Downward Spirals
by lilpocketninja
Summary: Derek just wants to prevent history from repeating itself.


WARNINGS: Consent issues, statutory rape (off-screen)

Notes: This is not a happy story; it's very much about the fucked up side of Sterek. Also, because I've been asked: no, there won't be more or a sequel.

* * *

This was a mistake. Derek knows it before they're even finished.

Stiles curls next to him, skin blazing hot, breathing stuttered as he tries to navigate his way back to Derek through a haze. Derek's already up, already half-standing at the edge of the bed and eyeing the window like it's a way out of this whole situation, but Stiles' hand curls around his wrist and he can't make himself move no matter how furiously he thinks about jumping out of it.

"Derek," Stiles says. Derek tries not to flinch at the tired slur of Stiles' voice. The slur Derek put there with his hands and teeth and tongue. "Get your ass back in bed."

Derek glances back down at Stiles, but Stiles' face has already relaxed again and that leaves him to think about things he doesn't want to consider. Things that are clawing at Derek already, things Derek knows he can't escape. If he were a good person he wouldn't be trying to escape them, but everyone already knows Derek Hale isn't a good person. He sits back down and it bounces the mattress too hard because Stiles is opening his eyes again and staring up at Derek with eyes that hold no pretense.

"Did I do it wrong or something? Because I'm pretty sure there's supposed to be a release of endorphins that make you chill the fuck out after you come. Like me." Stiles' fingers ruin in a circle around the bone of Derek's wrist and the tenderness of it belies the casual tone of his voice. Stiles is worried, Derek made Stiles worry. "I'm chill."

"No," Derek chokes. "You didn't do it wrong. I."

Stiles' brow wrinkles and as Derek tries force the rest of the words out he's sitting up, folding his legs under him and looking at Derek like Derek's a puzzle he can solve if he just applies himself enough. "You what?"

"This was a mistake, Stiles." Stiles face crumples in on itself, starting with a clenched mouth and ending with shuttered eyes, and then smoothes out again with the ease of practice. Before he can assume the wrong thing, patch the situation over where there's no hole, Derek adds: "My mistake. You weren't ready for this."

He can hear the words echoing in a different voice and he knows with all of himself that his time with her was a mistake, too. Derek closes his eyes, but it doesn't protect him from the tension building in Stiles', the way soft fingers turn into a hard grip. The fact that the nails are blunted and not feminine-long doesn't make any difference to the memories pushing their way up into Derek's mind.

"The hell I wasn't. I've been ready for this for – I mean, not a long time, but a pretty long time, because –" Whatever tangent Stiles was going on wraps itself up in his tongue because the boy falls silent again only to make a strangled noise in his throat. "I'm not a kid, Derek."

The air tastes of ash around them and Derek doesn't open his eyes for fear of seeing grey falling like snow on his hair. "You're sixteen, Stiles. That's – it's wrong."

It's illegal, sick, fucking disgusting, all the words Laura had used when Derek finally worked up the nerve to tell her the truth. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Derek is wrong, was wrong, ruined everything and now he's doing it again.

"I-" Derek's knocks Stiles back into the mattress, pinning him there with unconscious ease and cutting off whatever objections were next. Stiles' breath picks up and Derek can smell the confused arousal curling in the air already. That alone should be a sign that Derek's finally found something else he can break irreparably.

"You're not a kid," Derek sing-songs in a harsh whisper, "You know what you want, you're sixteen, that's practically an adult anyway, you get into all kinds of life-threatening situations, this is the best thing that's ever happened to you, everyone else is doing it, you wanted it so fucking bad, you approached me…"

By the end he's ragged and torn somewhere deep. His breath comes in starts and the words bubble their way past his teeth while he tries to hold them in.

Stiles is silent, beneath him, and Derek opens his eyes enough to see the shocked expression on the boy's face. Derek can remember how it felt on his own, when Kate tried to push him away in another of her sick fucking games just for him to come begging and crawling back. This isn't a game. Derek won't let it be a game for Stiles.

"I've heard it. You're wrong. We both fucked up and it's not gonna happen again." Derek will make sure it won't. He pulls up his jeans, ignores the scrape of dried cum against his stomach when he buttons them, puts on his boots and his jacket and ignores his torn shirt. He's going, even though his hands and his shoulders are shaking, because he can't stay.

There's a hell for people like him. Derek wants to put off going just a while longer, if he can.

"Derek," Stiles tries, and he just sounds so. Reasonable. Like if only Derek would listen, there would be something he could say that would make it alright.

There's nothing. Derek swings one leg out the window. "Goodbye, Stiles."

Kate Argent won't touch Stiles again. Derek will make sure of it.

**end**


End file.
